Mainichi
by ice-crisis
Summary: Short stories and drabbles written about the everyday lives of tennis boys. Some crack, some shounenai.
1. Freedom

**Mainichi (Every Day)**

**Author's Note: **This is going to be a collection of drabbles and short stories. The title comes from the fact that most of them are random every-day-life stories, and because I'm trying to write one each day. The date they're written will be always be posted, and I have a few in reserve, so they won't always be in order. They're mostly going to be about characters from Hyoutei (they _are_ my favorite team...) but other schools might sneak in occasionally. Some of them will contain shounen-ai (or whatever you want to call it) and some will not. Pairings most likely to show up are Oshitari/Gakuto, Silver Pair, Atobe/Jiroh. I warn you, some of these might be a little crackish.

Please review!

**Disclaimer: **Prince of Tennis and its characters do not belong to me. Believe me, if it did, you'd know.

* * *

**Title:** Freedom

**date written: **10-10-06

Fire was a mix of orange and red. Likewise the horns, tongue, tail and eyes were red. The shirt was blue, because there was too much red already and he didn't want to wear out his crayons unevenly. Hooves could be black. The pitchfork….

Jiroh frowned a little as he continued his picture. He was, for once, awake during class. He had gone to great pains to make it so, and was now almost regretting his actions. Sensei had said, however, that if she caught him sleeping in class again today that she would give him detention for a week. While Jiroh didn't usually mind detention that much—it was just another place to sleep, after all—the regulars were playing practice matches this week and he didn't want to miss a second of it. Far more exciting than their usual drills, watching the regulars practice, and participating, of course, would be the highlight of the month. And there was always the chance that he might get to play Atobe.

So, in deference to sensei's wishes, Jiroh had "convinced" Gakuto to give him the cupcake from his lunch. With any luck the sugar would keep him awake throughout the next class period. It was a trick he had learned from watching Marui at Rikkai Dai, and he figured he should try it since Marui was awesome and knew what he was doing.

Unfortunately it had worked a little too well. Not only was he awake, he was also in a rather silly mood. And he had remembered why he slept through class in the first place—it was boring. He already knew how to solve algebraic equations, thankyouverymuch, and had no inclination to listen to sensei rattle on about them for an hour. Staring out the window wasn't much fun either, so he had unpacked his crayons, figuring that sensei only said she would give him detention if she caught him sleeping, and had not mentioned drawing, or even paying attention.

Silly sensei.

There was altogether too much red, Jiroh decided. When he had started drawing the picture of sensei as the devil, he hadn't considered that he would need so much red. Putting the picture aside, he started a new one. This time he decided he wanted to draw something happy, like a field of flowers and bunnies and sheep. Cheerfully, he began drawing, adding the grass and the sky, the clouds, the sun. He then began working on the flowers, picking the colors with care and trying to make sure they were the happiest ones he could find.

Finishing the last flower, he put down his crayon and moved to stretch a little. The movement jostled the desk, and the crayon wobbled and rolled towards the edge, stopping at the last second.

Jiroh looked at the crayon, which had rolled to the side of his desk that was next to the window. He looked out the window and then back at the crayon again.

Poor crayon, he thought, it wants to go outside.

He knew how it felt. He had been wishing he could go outside and play tennis since lunch. Briefly he wondered if the students who stayed awake in class felt like this all the time. Dismissing the thought as to depressing to think about, he focused again on the crayon.

The crayon was wobbling a little as he moved, almost looking like it was straining towards the window.

Tears welled up in Jiroh's eyes. The crayon felt confined, he saw, trapped. It wanted to go outside! It wanted to be free!

In a fit of empathy, Jiroh understood and, rising, threw open the window.

"BE FREE, CRAYON!" he cried, pitching the desperate object as far as he could, "BE FREEEE!!"

Glad to have helped a friend in need, Jiroh sat down triumphantly.

The rest of the class stared at him.

Jiroh continued his picture.

Somehow he didn't think sensei was going to insist that he stay awake in class anymore.

--------------

Atobe wasn't exactly happy when, as he was walking towards the principal's office to deliver a message, a crayon sailed out of the sky and hit him on the head.

Affronted, he stared at the thing for a moment before picking it up off the ground.

"Pretty Princess Pink" he read.

He stared for a moment longer and then sighed as he deposited the crayon in his pocket. He would return it to Jiroh at practice, perhaps accompanied by a lecture, perhaps not. Atobe had seen Jiroh pilfer Gakuto's cupcake at lunch, and he concluded that there was no one else the flying crayon could possibly belong to.

Atobe continued on his way with the crayon, denied its freedom after all, secure in his pocket.


	2. Grandeur

**Title: **Grandeur

**date: **10-12-06

* * *

_And so it was decided at the end of his second year that Atobe would become the ruler of the great Hyoutei tennis club, and there was much rejoicing_. 

The boys at the table stared at him.

"Yeah," said Shishido, "so?"

"_So_," said Atobe, "Ore-sama has now been officially recognized for his magnificent talent and brilliance."

The others continued to stare. Lunch, Atobe realized, may not have been the best time to announce his impending leadership of the club. The people he ate with clearly did not know exciting news when they heard it and therefore could not react accordingly.

"Atobe," Oshitari said slowly, apparently choosing his words carefully, "we've known you were going to be picked as captain since our first year. Who else would they possibly choose?"

"Exactly," said Atobe, smugly. "Which is why, in light of this momentous occasion, the rest of you are to attend a celebration that is being held at the estate this evening. Ore-sama expects each one of you to bring a suitable gift."

The others exchanged glances and gave up, deciding that it just wasn't worth it to argue.

_The celebrations were long and glorious, and many a reveler was moved to tears as they looked upon the splendor and glory that was Atobe._

"Atobe, were the ice-sculptures of you really necessary?"

"Aahn? Oshitari, is there a reason you object to the manifestation of Ore-sama's beauty in the purity of ice?"

"We were just wondering what the hell they're _for_."

Atobe ignored Mukahi's coarse speech and instead deigned to answer the question.

"They are for the unfortunate souls who Ore-sama will not have time to grace with his presence this evening. While the ice-sculptures are clearly inferior to the true wonder that is Ore-sama, some of the multitudes will have to be content with gazing upon them instead. Ore-sama does not have time for everyone."

"…"

"Atobe… there are _seven_ of us."

_The grateful masses showered him with gifts, wishing in their hearts that they could give him all they owned._

"I can't believe you actually brought him a present."

"Of course I did, Shishido-senpai, it would be rude not to. Besides, now that he's been appointed Buchou for next year, Atobe-san will need all of our support."

"…Choutarou, this is Atobe we're talking about. His own ego could support a building."

_Atobe was much respected throughout the land and all who knew him were in awe._

"I think Atobe's delusional."

"More so than usual, you mean?"

"I'm serious, Yuushi! He's gone nuts! He just told me to be 'awed by his prowess'. I don't even want to _think_ about what that might mean."

"Perhaps he is just overexcited."

_At long last the festivities were complete and Atobe bid his guests farewell as, reluctant to leave, they returned to their own dwellings._

"Goodnight Atobe-buchou! We'll see you at practice tomorrow!"

"Jeez, Choutarou, don't _encourage_ him, let's just get _out_ of here!"

Atobe ignored Shishido's rude comment, deciding that Shishido would learn to respect him once he had taken over as the captain of the team and Shishido was given his first set of punishment laps. There would be a lot of them, he was sure. He looked over at his two remaining guests.

"Kabaji."

"Uss."

"Wake Jiroh up, the party is over."

"Uss."

After a round of shaking, Jiroh yawned and looked around.

"Eh? Wha's goin' on?"

"The party is over, Jiroh, you may return home."

Jiroh blinked.

"Party? Oh, right. … ano… what was the party for again?"

Clearly Jiroh had slept through the lunch announcement. How he had ended up at the party at all was a mystery.

"To celebrate Ore-sama being named the head of the tennis team, of course."

"…Buchou?" Jiroh blinked again, eyes suddenly widening, then— "SUGOI!! Wow, Atobe, that's awesome! Next year's going to be so much fun! Say, when you're buchou we can still play matches right? Cool!"

Atobe's last impression of that night was an unusually excited Jiroh standing on his doorstep and waving happily.

"Congratulations, Buchou!!"

_And the world was indeed a better place._

* * *

**Author's Note: **uh... you can blame Atobe for this one. He wasn't satisfied with his subdued role in the last story and demanded something centered on him. Yeah, so it's basically all his fault. :P Oh, and just in case somebody asks, yes, I know Hiyoshi isn't there. He never is. I mean, I love Hiyoshi, but in the anime Hiyoshi doesn't make an appearance, except once by name, until Ryoma has to play him. Seriously, watch the Hyoutei arc and look for him. He's just _not there, _not on the bleachers, not in the crowd of sixty million trillion Hyoutei kids... Taki is there, but not Hiyoshi. It's like they conjured him out of nowhere when they realized they needed someone to play the tie-break match. Poor Hiyoshi... 


	3. Thanks

SO, my internet decided to collapse on me for a few days. I finally got someone to fix it, though, and now the updates shall continue...

**Title: **Thanks

**date written: **10-17-06

**Pairings: **a little Oshitari/Gakuto

**Warnings: **a little bit angsty...

* * *

Gakuto was very light.

Oshitari shifted the weight in his arms, trivial though it was, afraid of dropping his partner. He tried to avoid thinking about the events of the afternoon, an effort to get his heart-rate back to normal, concentrating instead on the limp form and how light he was, even as dead weight.

He shouldn't be surprised, he knew. Gakuto was slightly built for a boy their age, and everyone was always commenting on how weightless he looked when performing his acrobatics. Even so, he had never really thought about how small his partner was, or how delicate.

Oshitari's grip tightened, drawing the other boy closer to him as he thought about it. The pressure must have done something, because suddenly Gakuto was stirring in his arms. The redhead opened his eyes groggily, staring around himself with dull confusion.

"What…? …Yuushi?"

"I'm taking you to the nurse's office," Oshitari stated, unable to keep the relief out of his voice. "You fainted."

Gakuto looked at him blankly for a moment and Oshitari, worried about the unresponsiveness, wondered if he was really okay. Then the redhead knit his brow and scowled.

"I did _not_ faint," he denied adamantly. "And I don't need to go to the nurse's office. Yuushi, I'm fine. Put me down."

"Gakuto, you almost fell off the bleachers. You probably hit your head on the way down, and the fact that you passed out at all is enough to warrant a trip to the nurse."

Gakuto was silent. He didn't seem particularly inclined to argue, which was a little worrisome because Gakuto was almost always in the mood to argue. Oshitari continued to walk, still holding his doubles partner bridal-style.

"Did everybody see me…" he struggled to find a word that didn't sound girly.

"Not-faint?" Oshitari supplied, smirking a little at the expression on the acrobat's face. "Pretty much the whole team did, yes. I wouldn't worry about them very much, though. I doubt they'll mock you for it, not for a few days at least."

It had been far too scary to make light of. The Hyoutei bleachers were impressively big, and if Gakuto had fallen backwards instead of forwards he might have been killed on impact.

"I'm never going to hear the end of it…" Gakuto grumbled. "That bastard Shishido better not say anything. If I hear one crack about—"

"Gakuto," Oshitari interrupted him before he started on his little tirade, "have you eaten anything today?"

Gakuto blinked, mumbled something, and fell silent. Oshitari frowned.

"Gakuto…"

"I overslept, okay?" Gakuto said defensively. "I didn't have time for breakfast and I forgot my lunch."

Oshitari remembered vaguely wondering where his doubles partner was at lunch that day. They usually ate together outside, but the acrobat had been mysteriously absent. He had guessed that Gakuto had been given detention by one of his many disapproving teachers, and hadn't thought much more about it.

"Why didn't you just eat in the cafeteria?"

Gakuto snorted.

"That stuff isn't food Yuushi, it's disgusting. You know that."

Oshitari had to admit that he was right on that count. Hyoutei might have been a rich school but cafeteria food was still cafeteria food wherever you went and it was, by definition, inedible. The fact that most of the students brought lunches from home only made the staff stop trying to make anything consumable. It wasn't enough to give Gakuto an excuse to skip two meals, though.

"You could have asked for some of mine," Oshitari said mildly. Gakuto didn't say anything to this, but Oshitari hadn't expected him to. It was a strange quirk of personality that Gakuto, who loved to bully and convince people into buying things for him, was strangely reticent about accepting actual offers. Oshitari had come to the conclusion that this was because the redhead viewed coercing people as a challenge and a triumph, but denounced gifts that came from sympathy as charity. He was proud and independent, and staunchly refused to believe that he needed charity. Gakuto probably avoided him at lunch for that very reason; he knew Oshitari would offer him food and that it would be rude to refuse, but he was loath to accept it.

Oshitari sighed. Everything would be so much easier if Gakuto could just accept that sometimes people did things out of sheer affection, and not pity.

"Yuushi, will you _put me down_ already?" Gakuto had that sour look on his face again. "I'm _fine_. I refuse to be treated like a girl!"

"Of course, Gakuto," Oshitari replied. Even so, he carried him the rest of the way to the nurse's office, holding onto his doubles partner—who now felt quite a lot heavier in his arms than he had before—even when the redhead threatened to bite him. For some reason, he just couldn't bring himself to let go.

------

The next week, Gakuto forgot his lunch again. This fact did not surprise Oshitari in the least. What did surprise him was that Gakuto told him about it that morning, complaining that his clock was broken and he'd missed breakfast and forgotten his lunch and half of his homework and been late to class and it was _raining_ damn it and he was wet because he didn't have his umbrella either and Yuushi was going to damn well share his lunch with him because Yuushi didn't want to know what would happen if he became a contributing factor to what Gakuto was beginning to refer to as his own personal "day of hell."

"Besides," the acrobat added, with a glint in his eyes, "you owe me for last week. I've never been so humiliated in my _life_, you dork."

Oshitari simply passed his partner the bento without a word, recognizing a thank-you when he heard it.


	4. Serenade

**Title:** Serenade

**Date: **10-30-06

**Disclaimer: **Still don't own PoT. Still don't own the characters.

* * *

Atobe knew that, as a captain, it was his responsibility to nurture and care for his team members. Even so, there were some things even his generous soul could not put up with for very long, and Shishido's caterwauling was one of them. 

What was worse was that the scruffy dash specialist knew it annoyed him and that was probably why he persisted in singing in the showers every single day after practice. Atobe had tried to get him to stop, had, in fact, said in no uncertain terms that if Shishido did _not_ stop his yodeling there would be dire consequences. It wasn't as if they were even proper songs, he had pointed out. Rap, in Atobe's mind, was something invented by the dregs of society because they had failed to grasp the true purpose of music—one, that it should be enjoyable, and two, that there should actually be _notes._ Toneless rhythmic chanting was for unsophisticated people who have never heard of Mozart or Bach or any number of composers who wrote actual music. It spoke of commoners and vagabonds and Shishido, as a student at Hyoutei, should avoid being associated with these peoples.

Shishido had replied, in no uncertain terms, that Atobe could go screw off. After this incident, he sang louder.

"Shishido, if you do not desist in this assault on Ore-sama's ears, Ore-sama will go to any lengths to have you _expelled!_"

"—sono puraido… geki-dasa daze!" Shishido yelled in response. Atobe was beginning to think that he made it all up as he went along.

The rest of the regulars winced at the increase in volume. Owing to the fact that Shishido took unusually long showers, the group was exposed to Shishido's "singing" daily for as long as they could stand it, dressing as quickly as possible before throwing their things into their bags and scuttling out of the club-room with their hands over their ears. Even Jiroh had trouble ignoring it, and usually he could sleep through a typhoon.

Atobe didn't want to expel Shishido. The boy was a decent tennis player and a pretty good doubles player, something his team was rather lacking in considering all the resident divas. Also, with Shishido out of school and therefore off the team, he would either have to replace him with one of the many, mediocre ranks of Hyoutei… or he would have to let Taki back on the team. Taki was almost worse than Shishido; he might not cause the team to go partially deaf every day, but he employed about six different vile-smelling chemical sprays to keep his hair shiny and "healthy," as he put it. In Atobe's opinion Taki's hair was possibly the most toxic substance in a fifty mile radius, which included the sewage treatment plant _and_ the nuclear power plant. Atobe did not enjoy leaving practice every day with bloodshot, watery eyes and smelling like a sewer.

Nevertheless, if Shishido did not stop that racket soon, Atobe was likely to kill him. Or have Kabaji do it for him. At any rate, a dead Shishido would cause problems for them all, and so needed to be avoided at all costs, and yet it was getting more and more difficult to dismiss the idea.

Atobe was not the only one who was thinking along these lines.

"That's IT! I can't stand it anymore!"

About to call for the gigantic second year that followed him everywhere, Atobe paused as Gakuto stomped off in the direction of the showers, holding the very spiky hairbrush he had been using to untangle his hair and wearing a look that proclaimed that righteous vengeance would be done.

All activity in the clubroom paused as the regulars waited with baited breath. Fifteen seconds passed before the horrendous singing suddenly stopped, a startled yell rent the air, and Gakuto came back, smirking.

"Come on, Yuushi," the redhead said, picking up his bag and pulling the tensai out the door with him, "I need to buy a new hairbrush."

* * *

**A/N:** If you don't recognize the lyrics, the song Shishido is singing is "Geki-Dasa Daze!" from his album Zero. For the record, I actually love this song, partially because the idea of Shishido rapping is just amusing to me. Somehow, though, I doubt that Atobe would approve… 


	5. Spectacles

**Title: **Spectacles

**date written: **10-21-06

**Pairings: **very small hints at Silver Pair, Ohtori/Taki, and Oshitari/Gakuto

**Warning:** the boys have dirty mouths...

* * *

"They are too!"

"They are NOT!"

"Yes, they ARE!"

"NOT!!"

"What's going on?"

Atobe, Kabaji trailing behind him, raised an eyebrow at the exchange that was occurring on the court. The entire club had apparently stopped to watch as Shishido and Taki had their daily bitch-out over the net. What they were arguing over was anyone's guess—topics ranged anywhere from tennis technique to the best hair conditioner. His sharp eyes took in the details of the court, the freshman standing there with confused looks, the second years trying to ignore their senpai, Gakuto sitting on the bleachers snickering madly, Hiyoshi watching the whole display with that disgruntled look he always wore….

"They're arguing over whether or not Oshitari-senpai really needs his glasses." Hiyoshi said, answering the question but not caring to elaborate.

"That's silly," murmured Jiroh from the bench nearby as he repositioned himself. "It's obvious."

Atobe regarded the volley specialist, who was now sleeping once again. He wanted to shake the boy awake and berate him for sleeping through practice. Not because he wanted to know what exactly Jiroh had meant by "it's obvious," you understand, and not because he was in any way _interested_, or curious. Because Jiroh shouldn't be sleeping during practice. Yeah.

He wondered if the team would see it that way if they caught him. He ignored Jiroh and turned his attention back to the impending cat-fight.

"Why would anyone wear glasses they don't need while playing tennis? They'd get in the way! Besides, have _you_ ever seen him without them?"

"Obviously all those nights of being whacked in the head by the Scud Serve have addled your brain! It's all about aesthetics, you idiot! But I guess I'm wasting my breath on _you._"

Shishido bristled.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!"

Taki smirked.

"Only that I shouldn't expect any understanding of fashion or style from someone whose hair looks like it's used to clean out the showers every day!"

Atobe almost winced, might have, if wincing wasn't undignified and plebian. The situation deserved it, however; Taki had hit a sore spot.

"Just because I don't spend three hours every day after practice primping like a goddamned _girl_ doesn't mean I don't take care of my hair, you jackass!"

"I don't care what you _do_ to it, it still looks like a rats-nest!"

"SAY THAT AGAIN YOU LAME EXCUSE FOR A DOUBLES PLAYER!"

"SCRUFFY BITCH!"

"PRINCESS!!"

Atobe sighed. Whatever semblance of discipline he'd created among the Hyoutei tennis club had vanished the instant he'd let Shishido back on the team. He understood the fact that the two of them had their issues to work out, Taki and his lost position among the regulars, Shishido and his butchered hair, not to mention their competition for the affections of a certain kouhai, but did the two of them really have to go at it _every single day? _Atobe would assign them laps, infinite laps, if he thought it would help. In the past however, that had only translated into the two of them taking their bickering into a broken orbit around the court, which only proved to be more distracting, hearing only snatches of their arguments as they sprinted by.

"I see the way you look at him!"

"What does that have to do with Oshitari's glasses?!" Leave it to Shishido to get them back on topic, not-so-cleverly steering the conversation away from a certain silver-haired second year.

"Nothing, obviously," Taki countered, "because I already won that argument. DUH."

"You didn't win anything, you delusional freak! I still say he has absolutely no reason to wear the stupid things if he doesn't need to!"

"If he really needed them that much and they got in the way like you said, don't you think he'd wear contacts?"

"Why don't they just ask Oshitari?" Atobe wondered out loud. Hiyoshi gave him a blank look.

"Because he's not here," said the second year, who then picked up his racket and wandered away, evidently deciding that he'd seen enough of the ridiculous drama.

Atobe looked back at the courts and realized that Hiyoshi was right—the bespectacled tensai was conspicuously absent. Of course, even if he had been there the chances were slim that he'd give anyone a straight answer. The Kansai boy liked to be mysterious like that.

"GAKUTO!" both combatants suddenly turned, their simultaneous scream startling the redhead, who almost fell off his seat. Up until this point he'd merely been watching from the bleachers, snickering to himself.

"Jeez, what?" he asked, as if he didn't know.

"Are Oshitari's glasses real or fake?" Shishido demanded.

Gakuto raised an eyebrow.

"How the hell should I know?"

Taki eyed him in disbelief.

"You're his _doubles partner_," he said, making sure to put due stress on the last two words, "of course you know!"

Gakuto glared at them.

"So what, we play doubles and that means I spend all my spare time stalking him? Fuck off, why don't you?"

"Bullshit!" Shishido yelled, starting to go red in the face, "Just tell us already!"

"Screw you!"

"A-HEM."

The court abruptly went silent and everyone preset turned to look at Atobe, who had evidently had enough. Two people fighting on the courts was more than enough to reflect badly on his captaining skills, and he was going to put a stop to it before a third got dragged in or, worse, Kantoku arrived.

"Shishido! Taki! One hundred laps, NOW. If the two of you can't play a match without fighting then you can spend the rest of practice running!"

"Serves you right, you nosy bastards!"

"Mukahi!"

"…shit."

"Fifty laps and clean-up duty after practice. Ore-sama suggests you use that time to reflect on why we do not allow vulgarity on the courts. It offends Ore-sama's ears. The rest of you, get back to practice!"

With that Atobe turned to retrieve his racket, and by the time he had walked onto the courts, practice was running as smoothly as it ever did.

Up in the bleachers, Gakuto, sulking, was just rising when something icy was pressed to the back of his neck. He shuddered.

"Don't _do_ that, Yuushi," he said, accepting the cold soda can from the smirking tensai. Oshitari just nodded, surveying the courts below them and noting, with some evident disappointment, the two running figures.

"I suppose I've missed the daily drama, then?" he asked, indicating the forms of Taki and Shishido as they continued their circumnavigation of the courts. "What was the topic today?"

Gakuto snickered.

"Actually," he said, leaning forwards and snagging the silver frames, placing them on his own nose. "_These._"

Oshitari blinked, and then grinned.

"Ah," he said, his voice full of amusement. "I was wondering when that would come up. What was the verdict?"

"Shishido thinks they're real, Taki says they're fake."

"Any compelling reasons why?"

"Nothing good."

"And?"

"Two rounds, no winner. They asked me in the end, before His Highness got pissed off and assigned us all laps."

"Is that so?" Oshitari retrieved the glasses, but didn't put them on, instead looking at his partner, eyes sparkling. "And did you tell them?"

Gakuto snorted.

"Hell no," he said, "let 'em wonder."

Oshitari smiled, a genuine smile and not a smirk, and Gakuto knew his doubles partner was pleased with his response. As if Gakuto would actually tell anyone the secret behind the megane.

"I believe you said something about laps?" Oshitari prompted after a few seconds of companionable silence. Gakuto pouted.

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, handing back the soda and starting to make his way down the bleachers.

"Find me when you're finished, we'll play a match."

"Uh-huh."

Gakuto paused for just a moment, before he reached the bottom and started his laps, to look once more into his partner's mischievous, deep blue eyes. No, he decided, he would never tell anyone the real reason Oshitari wore glasses—and he'd never have to share those eyes with anyone.

* * *

**A/N:** This is what happens when I listen to "Go! Go! Meganes!" too many times. Also, I'm sorry if the ending doesn't make very much sense. There's a companion piece to this that's called "Silver" (which is misleading because it's not about the Silver Pair...) that might explain it a little. Then again, it might not. Either way, I'll probably post it tomorrow or the day after 


	6. Propositions in Cloth

**Title: **Propositions in Cloth

**date written: **10-25-06

**Pairings: **implied Momoshiro/Ryoma

**Warnings: **my first attempt at writing anything for Seigaku... but no one but Momo could do this, so it had to be them.

* * *

Momo had a new shirt. 

It was bright blue and had a trendy English phrase scrawled across the front.

He was hanging around at the street tennis courts, showing off his cool new outfit and waiting for Echizen to show up so they could play their usual weekend game and then go out for burgers. Echizen, as usual, was late. It was kind of a shame, since Echizen was one of the only people Momo knew who was actually fluent in English. Momo's English wasn't very good, so he wasn't really sure what the shirt said and he wanted to know what the first year thought.

He had already caught a couple of people staring at him in admiration. It was a little strange, though, because no one had actually complemented him yet, and a few had given him odd looks. Momo decided that it was because the shirt was just too cool to approach.

Scanning the crowd, Momo frowned until he caught sight of a familiar white cap.

"Oi! Echizen! You're late!"

"My alarm clock broke," muttered the freshman as he walked up to Momo. "I overslept."

"Well, I guess I don't mind, so long as you treat me to burgers today," replied Momo, grinning cheerfully. When no snarky comeback was made, he glanced down at the other boy and noticed that he was staring… at Momo's new shirt.

"Oh, right, the shirt!" Momo straitened his clothes, still grinning. "So, Echizen, what do you think?"

For a moment Echizen just stared. Then he pulled his cap down and smirked.

"Not today, Momo-senpai," he said, picking up his racket and walking towards the court.

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Are we going to play tennis or just stand around?"

"Hey!" Momo picked up his own racket, running to the other side of the net. "Wait, what did you mean, Echizen?"

"Mada mada da ne."

"Echizen!"

The freshman ignored him, serving the ball instead. Momo continued to ask throughout the game, and then afterwards while they were eating burgers, but Echizen never told him what he had meant. All Echizen said, when they finally parted ways later in the day, was that if Momo ever went to America he should probably not wear that shirt.

Momo didn't know what he was talking about. He thought "Lets Get Naked!" was an awesome thing for a shirt to say.

* * *

**A/N:** WAH! SEIGAKU! I've never written this pairing before, but for some reason the idea of Momo's new shirt just popped into my head. Believe it or not, the shirt is based off of a real shirt from Engrish . com, which says, if I remember correctly, "Run around naked". Also, this isn't meant to be offensive or anything, I happen to think it's just as funny that Americans like to wear shirts decorated with Kanji that they don't understand... 


	7. Silver

**Title: **Silver

**date written: **10-23-06

**Pairings: **Oshitari/Gakuto

* * *

The world was rimmed in silver. 

Yuushi liked it that way. He couldn't remember when he started wearing glasses, but he suspected that it was around the time he had transferred to Hyoutei. It made sense; the idea of recreating his image in a new place was always appealing. Of course, Yuushi hadn't really changed at all, not really, he had just started wearing glasses. Everything else about him stayed the same, but somehow as the months went by he began to feel that, even if he didn't need them, the glasses had somehow become a part of him.

The first time Gakuto stole them, he had felt almost afraid. He didn't want people to know they weren't real because then he would have to stop wearing them, or risk the ridicule that was sure to follow.

This was back when he had Gakuto had just started playing doubles together. They weren't very close then, both still trying to figure the other out. When Gakuto brought the glasses up to his own eyes, Yuushi began to dread the question he knew was coming.

"Ne, Oshitari?" he could hear the confusion in his partner's voice. The redhead took the glasses off and stared at them blankly. "They don't _do_ anything. Why the hell would you want to wear fake glasses? There's no point!"

"There _is_ a point," Yuushi said, reaching for the object of discussion only to have his partner pull them back again.

"But they get in the way, don't they?" Gakuto continued to examine the useless glasses as he spoke, "and if you don't need them, you shouldn't bother."

Yuushi sighed. Gakuto was right, of course, there wasn't a reason to wear them, not a good one. Simply replying the he liked the world better with his glasses on would sound strange, maybe a little insane, although it was the truth.

"Perhaps," he replied, and he sounded a little forlorn even to his own ears. "Now that I've been found out, I suppose I shall stop wearing them."

Gakuto looked at him then, for the first time since the glasses had come off, and his eyes went wide. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then Gakuto shook himself out of whatever trance he had been in and shook his head.

"No," he said, shoving the glasses at his partner and turning away, "put 'em back on. I won't tell anybody."

Yuushi had blinked, wondering at the time if his imagination was acting up or if the light pink of a blush over Gakuto's cheeks had really been there.

Yuushi adjusted his glasses, smiling slightly at the memory. Of course, he knew the answer now.

"Yuushi! There you are," Gakuto plopped down on the grass next to the tensai. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What are you doing?"

"Nothing really, Gakuto," he said as the smaller boy wrapped an arm around his waist. "Just looking at the sky."

Gakuto glanced up while Yuushi put his own arm around the redhead's shoulders and drew them closer together.

"It's not going to rain is it? 'Cause that would suck. We have a new formation we're supposed to be doing at practice today."

"No," he looked up at the drifts of fluffy cumulus as the two of them lay back on the grass, "no, I don't think it will rain."

They stayed that way for the rest of their lunch period. Gakuto rambled on about new doubles formations and their chance to finally pay back Shishido and Ohtori for the embarrassing defeat they had suffered at their hands, his partner adding a random comment every now and again. For the most part, however, Yuushi was content to simply watch the sky, hold his partner close, and marvel at the way the frames of his glasses lent every cloud a silver lining.


	8. Vengeance

**Title: **Vengeance

**date written: **10-24-06

* * *

Hiyoshi stared at the thing in front of him, wishing it would go away, wishing he could be anywhere else but here. He could be playing tennis, or planning his inevitable domination of Hyoutei, or even doing his homework. He could be putting his time to good use by rereading that book on voodoo dolls he'd found at the library. He could be doing _anything_ else and he would be happy. But no, this… this _thing_ had to make his life miserable.

He glared at it, willing it to burst into flames so he could have an excuse to leave.

The rose bush simply stood there in all its pink, perfumed glory.

Hiyoshi sighed, and picked up the sheers. This was all his mother's fault, of course. His mother wanted to visit her ill friend, and naturally that meant that she wanted to bring her a bouquet of flowers. Flowers, however, were expensive. Knowing this, she had long ago taken to growing roses and various other suitable species in their backyard so that whenever she needed them, all she had to do was cut them. And, naturally, Hiyoshi was the one who always ended up standing in the backyard holding a bucket and a pair of sheers and wearing his mother's gardening gloves, which were a shamefully girly shade of pink.

If his teammates ever saw him like this, he'd never make captain next year.

Hiyoshi hissed in pain as a thorn caught his skin. As he tried to pull away, it raked down his arm, leaving a long line of bright red. Still growling to himself, he examined his arm and then, with the glint of vengeance in his eyes, lunged for the offending stem and savagely severed it from the plant.

"HA! Gekokujou!!"

He threw the flower into the bucket with the rest, smiling in grim triumph, and continued his work.

If anyone asked, he would say it was a battle wound.


	9. Intentions

**Title: **Intentions

**Pairings: **Atobe/Jiroh

**date written:**10-22-06

**Warnings: **no actual sex, but the idea is there...

* * *

"Mm… soft…"

Atobe looked at the boy curled up on his bed with something approaching dismay. When he had invited Jiroh to spend the night, this was not what he had in mind. Of course, somewhere in his mind he had acknowledged the fact that events like these were considered "sleep-overs", but nevertheless he hadn't considered that actual sleeping would be a very large component of their activities that night. It certainly wasn't what he had planned.

Jiroh lay in the middle of Atobe's king sized bed, curled around a particularly large down pillow and entangled in a fuzzy micro-fiber blanket. Every once in a while he would nuzzle the blanket or squeeze the pillow and make a contented noise. It was Jiroh, so he supposed he should have expected it. Nothing knocked the boy out faster than a warm place to lie down and something soft to cuddle—and no one had softer pillows than Atobe, as he himself had made sure.

Atobe sighed and slipped into bed opposite of Jiroh. He had hoped they would be cuddling each other before they drifted off to sleep. He had been waiting to go farther in their semi-relationship for a long time, and tonight he had hoped would be the crucial moment, but Jiroh had somehow managed to foil his plans.

Still, he thought as he watched the other boy sleep with the pillow between them, his position so adorable, his expression so innocent… still, it wouldn't be Jiroh if he didn't act like this.

Atobe smiled slightly, lifting a hand to brush the golden curls out of the other boy's eyes and leaning forward a little to ghost a kiss across his forehead. He supposed he could wait, if that's what Jiroh wanted.

He was settling back to get some sleep when he heard Jiroh murmur, barely above a whisper, "love you, Keigo…"

Atobe stared at him for a moment, startled, before smiling again, wrapping his own arms around the pillow and pulling them closer together. It was just possible, he realized as he drifted off, that they had come farther than he knew.

-------

When Jiroh woke up early the next morning, Atobe was still hugging the pillow. Stifling his giggles, he took a picture with his cell-phone. Despite what Atobe had intended the night before, Jiroh was glad things had turned out this way. He didn't want to rush their relationship, and he liked to know that his boyfriend respected his wishes.

Grinning, Jiroh took another picture at a better angle. No one would ever believe him that Atobe could be so cute, but even with proof he wasn't going to show the picture to anyone. This picture was just for him, one he would always keep to remind himself that he was loved.


	10. The Viral Revolution

**Title:** The Viral Revolution

**date written: **11-01-06

* * *

"Jiroh." 

"hmm."

Atobe surveyed the courts once more, almost hoping that his senses had failed him the first time. Really, there was no other explanation.

Unfortunately, he saw the same thing.

"Jiroh." He turned back to the boy who was currently stretched out on the bleachers, golden curls nestled in his arms. He tried again, becoming impatient.

"Jiroh!"

"hmm?"

Jiroh opened an eye and looked at him lazily. When Atobe glared at him, he only yawned and sat up.

"What's wrong Atobe?"

Jiroh looked altogether too unconcerned, Atobe decided. He must know something.

"Jiroh, where is everyone?"

"Everyone?"

"The _team,_ Jiroh. No one has come to practice."

It would not be incorrect to say that Atobe looked unsettled. Even the smooth captain of Hyoutei could be ruffled, it seemed. Of course, Jiroh supposed, the fact that almost all of the regulars appeared to be absent would surprise anyone. Hyoutei students didn't skip tennis practice, it just wasn't done. Anyone who skipped practice was just asking to be dragged kicking and screaming off the team by the two hundred ravenous sub-regulars and then be torn apart and replaced.

Jiroh wrinkled his nose at this thought. He knew it was a bad idea to stay up and watch that zombie movie marathon—it was starting to affect his thinking.

"Jiroh, Ore-sama is not going to ask you again, _where is everyone?_"

"Absent, Buchou," said the sleepy boy, quite unhelpfully. Atobe stared at him, still unwilling to believe that his entire team had apparently decided to revolt against him on the same day. There had to be a reason.

"Oshitari?" he asked after the first person he thought of.

"Sick," Jiroh said, yawning. "He said he wasn't feeling well at the end of practice yesterday, remember?"

Atobe did not remember. He had started ignoring everything the blue-haired tensai said that was not directly related to tennis after having discovered that, nine times out of ten, he didn't want to know what the boy was talking about. The only person who ever seemed to understand him was his doubles partner, anyway.

"Mukahi?"

"Also sick. He called me before school to ask me to pick up his assignments. Probably caught whatever it is Oshitari has. They spend enough time together."

"Shishido?"

"Got it from Gakuto." Jiroh stretched. "They've been hanging out at the arcades every night for a week."

"…Ohtori?"

Jiroh giggled.

"Got it from Shishido."

Atobe was going to have to talk to his team about spending too much time with each other. Clearly the team dynamic was bad for their health.

"Hiyoshi?"

Jiroh blinked.

"Hiyoshi's here," he said, pointing. Atobe followed his gaze to where he saw a swaying Hiyoshi attempt to rally with a sub-regular. Apparently the boy was trying to prove himself better than any illness, and therefore better than his senpai who had succumbed to it, and to do it was prepared to "gekokujou" until his dying breath. It was no surprise Atobe hadn't noticed him—he was playing like he'd never picked up a racket before.

Atobe was at a loss. He himself, of course, was impervious to disease, but an epidemic of unheard of proportions was sweeping through his team. At this rate the entire tennis club would be brought down by the unyielding virus, all two-hundred of them. That was absolutely unacceptable. Atobe needed his club to be intact so they could suitably admire him daily. Also, nationals were coming up fast and he would never live it down if he had to forfeit on the basis of not actually having a team.

His gaze shifted back to Jiroh, who was laying back down on the bleachers for another nap.

"Jiroh, how is it that in the midst of all this disease, you are the only one unaffected?"

Jiroh yawned.

"Maybe they don't get enough sleep," he said, grinning.

Atobe stared at him.

"Jiroh."

"Mm?"

"Go back to sleep."

"Mm."

Jiroh watched through slitted eyes as Atobe stalked off to look for Kabaji. Provided that the second-year had not already fallen to the enemy, the two of them would contrive to work out a battle-plan. The fight against the common cold was by no means lost.

* * *

**A/N: **This whole thing started because of my friend Placidmage, who is sick right now. The title comes from a rather amusing conversation we had the other day about the mutation rate of viruses somehow leading to taking over the world. At any rate, this is not the last we'll hear of the viral revolution. Also, I'd like to say that my workload has suddenly turned into an avalanche. Which is not to say that I'm going to stop writing every day, just that I appologize if the quality of said writing suffers for it. To add to that, I'd like to thank everyone who reviews my little stories--you guys seriously make my day. :)


	11. The Viral Revolution II

**Title: **The Viral Revolution II: Casualties

**date written: **11-05-06

**Pairings: **Silver Pair

* * *

"I'm sorry, Choutarou…" Shishido mumbled, miserable. He sank further into the blankets that cocooned him, leaning back against the wall and bumping his head. Sometimes the size of his room seemed absurd, far too big for just one person. Of course, curling up in the corner of his bed next to the wall, as he was doing now, only increased his sense of loneliness. 

"It's okay, Shishido-san," Ohtori's staticy voice replied warmly over his cell phone. Shishido looked across his room at the now tepid bowl of soup his mother had set on his desk for him an hour ago. He hadn't felt like eating, still didn't feel like eating, not while talking to Choutarou, listening to him say in that kind, innocent voice that he didn't mind, really, and that Shishido-san had nothing to feel guilty about.

It was _not_ okay. First kisses were supposed to be thrilling and romantic and there were supposed to be _fireworks,_ damn it. They weren't supposed to make the object of your affections get sick for three days.

Shishido shivered and pulled the nest of blankets tighter around him, hoping that Choutarou didn't feel as wretched as he did and knowing that if he did it was entirely Shishido's fault. Choutarou was such a nice kid, too, that he probably really didn't blame him at all. Which somehow made Shishido feel even worse. The high fever he was suffering from wasn't helping his thought process and only served to increase his sense of guilt.

"I'll make it up to you, I promise," Shishido said, feeling it was the least he could do. "When we get better we'll go to that restaurant you like, that French one, my treat… or to one of those classical concerts, that would be fun, right? I—"

"Ryou, you're supposed to be sleeping right now, not talking to your girlfriend."

Shishido glared at the person who had trespassed in his room unannounced.

"Shut up, Aniki," he growled, throwing the nearest pillow. It fell to the ground in a halfhearted manner, less than halfway to its intended destination. His brother grinned.

"Now that was just sad," he said, crossing the room and picking up the pillow. "Seriously, though, I've been sent from the land of the healthy to make sure my little bro isn't so dumb that he spends all night on the phone instead of getting his sleep. Who are you talking to, anyway?"

Shishido ignored him.

"I have to go," he said into the phone, trying not to sound irritated and probably failing utterly. Choutarou could usually tell how he was feeling, anyway. It was almost scary. "I'll talk to you later, ok? Get better, yeah?"

He paused, listening, and his brother noted with rising glee the sudden pink tint in Ryou's face that could not be explained by just the fever.

"You too," he mumbled, blushing furiously, before ending the call. Then he noticed the way his brother was grinning at him. "…what?"

"Ryou's got a girlfriend!" his brother teased. He had only been joking when he had said it before, but clearly the comment had been justified. "Who is it? Anyone we know? C'mon, spill!"

Shishido glared at him. "I don't have to tell you anything!" he yelled, only realizing his mistake after he'd said it.

"Oh! So it's true then!" His brother's grin only got wider. "Well, it doesn't matter _what_ you want to tell me, does it?"

Shishido realized what he was planning a split second before he lunged for the phone and barely managed to keep it out of his brother's reach. The situation soon dissolved into a wrestling match, with Shishido, in his weakened state, only just keeping his hold on the phone through sheer determination.

"Getoffame Aniki!"

"No way! Either you tell me who she is or I look it up in the call log!"

"I said get OFF!"

"Boys!"

The brothers froze as the cross voice of their mother rang out from the doorway. They glanced at each other before untangling themselves and doing their best to look repentant. Their mother wasn't fooled for an instant.

"Leave Ryou alone," she said, glaring at Shishido's brother, "he's sick. Ryou, you should be sleeping and regaining your strength, ok Snookums?"

Shishido scowled as his brother snickered at the pet name.

"Yeah, ok."

"Goodnight, dear," she said, turning off the light and walking away.

Shishido's brother followed her out, stopping briefly at the door and remarking slyly, "You can't guard that thing forever…"

That night Shishido slept with his cell phone under his pillow. It was set to vibrate in case Choutarou called him back while his family was asleep, and Shishido wanted to be sure he felt it if it rang. That, of course, was the only reason.

Half asleep, Shishido shoved his hand under the pillow and touched the smooth plastic surface, remembering the last three words Choutarou had said to him and repeating them in his mind.

Shishido drifted off to sleep, suddenly feeling a lot better.


	12. The Viral Revolution III

**Title: **The Viral Revolution III: Counter-Attack

**date written: **11-06-06

* * *

Oshitari opened the door, somehow managing to look as though he were leaning on it because it looked cool, and not because without a prop he would probably fall over. His parents were out at the moment and it was rude to ignore a guest, so, dutifully, he had ventured forth from his room and made the long trek to the foyer. Despite the fact that he felt as though the journey had almost killed him, he was doing his best to appear nonchalant. With this in mind, still clutching the door, he looked at his guest. 

He blinked.

"Gakuto, what are you doing here?"

The acrobat glared at him and pushed his way inside, almost dislodging Oshitari's hold on the door and knocking him down. He set the bag he'd brought with him down in the foyer, taking off his shoes and giving his doubles partner a quizzical look.

"Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"

Oshitari wasn't sure what he should make of this statement coming from someone who, the last he had heard, was almost as sick as he was and yet was nevertheless invading his home. He was about to ask the same question back, but Gakuto had already picked up his bag and moved out of the room. Nonplussed, Oshitari followed the redhead unsteadily back to his own bedroom.

"Gakuto—"

"My house is boring," Gakuto announced, tossing his bag once again on the floor and then practically collapsing on top of it. "We're both sick. We both have the same bug. We might as well hang out together while we get better."

Oshitari raised an eyebrow at this logic, moving to sit, hopefully with a little more grace, across from Gakuto. He noted his doubles partner's flushed face and the glazed look in his eyes, coming to the conclusion that Gakuto was indeed just as sick as he was. How on Earth the acrobat had even managed to make it up the stairs, much less all the way to his house, was a mystery that could only be explained by sheer stubborn will-power.

"Gakuto, I'm not sure that—"

"No arguments, Yuushi." Gakuto glared at him again, and Oshitari sighed. Gakuto's thinking was clearly affected by the fever, but when he went into his stubborn phases it was usually futile try to talk him out of whatever he was demanding. So, for the next hour or so, they sat on the floor of Oshitari's room, talking and having as much fun as is possible when the people involved feel as though they could keel over at any moment.

"I had a surprise visitor today," Oshitari said at one point. Gakuto grimaced.

"You too? I swear, if I never see another one of Atobe's creepy butlers in my _life_ I can die happy. The guy went on for ten minutes about eating right and getting enough sleep. He brought about six million packs of tea with him, too," he said, pulling his bag over and opening it to reveal that it was, indeed, full of tea. "Said it was 'good for me.'"

Gakuto made a face.

Oshitari almost felt offended. He hadn't been given any tea. The man had merely come into the house on behalf of "Atobe-sama" and lectured his parents for half an hour on the best ways to keep their son healthy. It was one of the most amusing things he'd ever seen, not least because his father was a doctor.

"Jiroh said he's been freaking out because everybody's sick." Gakuto continued, rummaging in his bag. "…You want any of this? There's no way I can drink all this crap. I hate tea."

"How sweet of him," commented Oshitari dryly, accepting a handful of the tea. "I suppose we should be pleased that he's worrying about someone else's well-being for once."

"Yeah. Lucky us."

"How are the others doing?"

"Like I would know. All I get is Jiroh's report which lasts only as long as he can stay awake."

"And that is?"

"Everybody's sick now except for Jiroh and Atobe, Hiyoshi's still coming to practice, which means that he'll probably end up killing himself, and then something about planning a counter-attack."

"Pardon?"

Gakuto shrugged.

"It's Jiroh. For all I know he was talking in his sleep." The redhead shivered and drew his arms around himself. "Is it cold in here, or what?"

Oshitari smiled, retrieving a blanket from his bed and draping it around the two of them. They stayed that way for a long time, relaxing into the soft blanket warmed by the feverish heat of each other's bodies. It had been three days since they'd gotten sick, and whatever the virus was it was both unrelenting and incapacitating. Three days of weakness, chills and feverish thinking. Three days of utter misery. And yet, thought Oshitari as he and his doubles partner curled up on the floor of his room wrapped in the warmth and comfort of a familiar presence, somehow he wouldn't mind if they could stay like this forever.


	13. Resemblance

**Title: **Resemblance

**date written: **11-09-06

* * *

"Sheep," Jiroh said, without even opening his eyes. 

Gakuto stared at him blankly. The two of them were, for the moment, alone on the roof durring lunch. Jiroh had been there taking a nap when Gakuto arrived, so they had decided to eat together. Gakuto hadn't come alone, of course, but Oshitari had volunteered—that is, he had _been_ volunteered—to get drinks for them all, so they were temporarily left to their own devices. This is why Gakuto, bored, had asked Jiroh what he saw when he looked at the huge fluffy cloud that floated directly overhead.

"That's lame, Jiroh," he complained. He thought it looked like a pirate ship being boarded by hostile elephants. Yeah. "You didn't even look."

Jiroh opened one eye and studied the cloud for a full thirty seconds.

"Sheep," he said again, and rolled over.

Clearly Jiroh suffered from a severe lack of imagination. Gakuto frowned.

"Fine," he said. "Then what about the others?"

Jiroh, realizing that Gakuto was not going to leave him alone and let him nap, sat up and yawned.

"How many are there?" he asked, seemingly at random.

A little confused, Gakuto turned to look at the horizon. The azure sky was dotted with cumulus masterpieces, each one unique and in constant motion. They in no way resembled something as boring as sheep, the acrobat thought as he began to count.

Counting clouds wasn't very easy. They kept changing and moving and morphing into one another and he kept losing track of them. The swirling mass of white was almost… hypnotic.

He had counted twenty-six before he started having trouble keeping his eyes open.

"See? Sheep," said Jiroh, smiling and patting his shoulder before lying back for another nap. It wasn't long before Gakuto was curled up right beside him.

* * *

**Note: **There was going to be one last chapter of the Viral Revolution, but it's giving me a lot of trouble. If my inspiration for that one ever returns, it'll show up. In the meantime, sheep. This one was written at about one thirty in the morning, so any weirdness comes from that...


	14. Speculation

**Title: **Speculation

**date written: **11-11-06

**Warnings: **There's a Japanese phrase in this one (because I think it sounds so much cooler in Japanese than in English). If you don't know what it means, scroll down to the bottom where there is an explanation/translation. Also... in retrospect... this one is pretty weird... you have been warned.

* * *

"Why do you even care?" Shishido asked, exasperated, as the regulars changed to get ready to go home. 

"I don't _care_," Gakuto retorted, as if rattling on about the same boring subject for ten minutes was something you did when you didn't give a damn. "I'm just curious, that's all. Aren't you?"

"No," said Shishido. And he wasn't. He couldn't care less what Jiroh dreamed about. Gakuto seemed to think that it mattered somehow, like it was a clue to some puzzle about the sleepy boy that he wanted to solve. Shishido was a little curious about how Jiroh managed to sleep all the time and never face any repercussions for it, but not enough to admit it, and not enough to ask.

"Senpai once told me that he sometimes dreams about things he likes to do," Ohtori piped up. Shishido rolled his eyes while the rest considered this information.

"What, like hobbies?" Gakuto said, frowning as he looked through his bag, searching for something. "Well that's stupid. I mean, he sleeps practically all the time, he could just get up and _do_ them instead of dreaming about it."

"Perhaps his hobbies are not so easily carried out?" Oshitari commented, joining the conversation.

"Come on, Yuushi, how difficult could a hobby be?"

"This from the guy who likes to throw himself from great heights for fun," Oshitari countered wryly. Gakuto shrugged. None of his teammates had ever understood why he enjoyed bungee-jumping, and he had given up trying to explain the thrill.

"What kind of hobbies does Jiroh even have?"

No one really had an answer to this question. As far as anyone knew, Jiroh's only hobby was napping.

"Tennis?" someone suggested.

"Tennis is not a hobby," said Atobe from across the room where he stood in front of a mirror, teasing his hair into its perfect shape. "It is a vocation."

"Yeah, right, Atobe. You're just mad because you think he should be dreaming about _you_."

Amidst the snickering that followed this comment, Atobe turned to give Gakuto a haughty look.

"Who is to say that he isn't?" he said before going back to the mirror and his hair. "Ore-sama is a fascinating subject."

Gakuto was going to say something clever in response to this, but he was interrupted by a contented murmur that came from where the subject of conversation lay, curled up on the clubroom's plush sofa.

"Mm… barabara… satsujin…"

At this everyone in the room, even Atobe, paused in what they were doing and blinked.

"Uh…" Shishido said finally, breaking the silence, "did he… just say what I think he did?"

They all turned to look at Jiroh, who, to all appearances, was still sleeping innocently. While they watched, the boy giggled softly and smiled. Whatever he was dreaming about, he seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. They exchanged glances.

"You know…" said Gakuto, slowly, "on second thought, I think… I don't want to know."

The rest of the regulars silently agreed with this statement and the subject was unquestioningly dropped. After a few minutes the conversation picked up again with their usual inane chatter and banter. There was an uneasiness the in air that they all carefully avoided acknowledging, but it continued until one by one they left, all giving Jiroh a wide berth.

Jiroh smiled slightly to himself and rolled over. Next time, they would know better than to ask.

* * *

**Translation Note: **Barabara satsujin means "dismemberment murder". no joke. 

**A/N: **Funny how they never stop to wonder if Jiroh's actually asleep… Probably I should explain where this one came from before I'm branded as a psycho. The other day I was watching an episode of the anime "Higurashi no Naku Koro ni" which, despite all the cutesy in the first episode, is very _very_ creepy and disturbing. The phrase "barabara satsujin" actually came up quite a lot, and I ended up going to bed with the word on my mind... which probably wasn't a good idea. This is the result.


	15. Rain

**Title: **Rain

**date written: **11-07-06

**Warning: **ANGST. Lots and lots of (pointless) angst. So much that I'm still not sure if posting it is a good idea. So, yes. If you don't like angst, don't read it.

* * *

The rain fell, rivulets of molten silver carving their way across his body, through his flesh. 

He shivered and drew his arms around himself, wishing somehow that he could keep out the rain, even though right now there was nowhere else he'd rather be than here. Somehow the icy droplets seemed appropriate. He'd never felt so broken, so desperate, so angry, and so calm all at the same time. The whirling torrent of freezing water cascading down on him, searing through him, seemed to pin him to that spot like the unrelenting needles that pin a butterfly under glass.

They'd fought today. They fought often, but today was different than the usual bickering and snide remarks. Today there had been _confessions_. Things they hated, things they assumed, things they craved, fears, lies, truths, loves, all had been exposed, bare for the world to see. Everything had been admitted, examined, and concluded.

And Yuushi had walked away.

Gakuto hadn't known what to think as his partner turned from him and the rain began to fall. All thoughts had been immediately curtailed and his mind shut down, leaving him capable of only staring, empty, as the cold soaked through his clothes and into his bones. He had followed, automatically, although Yuushi had never once turned around, never made any indication that he knew Gakuto was there, or that he cared. Gakuto hadn't done anything to announce himself, either. He hadn't demanded an explanation, as he should have, or thrown a tantrum, as was probably expected of him, or screamed, like he wanted to. He only followed, wondering vaguely where the end to it all would be.

He was still there now, crouched on the sidewalk, knees pulled up to his chest, leaning against the wall outside Yuushi's house and waiting.

He wasn't sure what he was waiting for.

Yuushi hadn't said anything to him as he walked away, he simply turned and left. Gakuto wasn't sure what he had expected, but he had expected more than silence. He had tried not to hope for much, had tried not to hope for anything at all, but hope was a tricky thing that hid in the dark corners of the mind, known to no one. Hope was there, whether he wanted it or not, and it was the fault of that hope that he was reduced to this state.

He felt numb. He wasn't sure if it was because of the rain or the situation, but he could no longer feel his fingers, and his whole body felt heavy.

He was still waiting, though. Maybe he was waiting for that explanation, or an apology, or one final rejection that would send him on his way. Maybe he was waiting until Yuushi wanted to talk to him again, or until he changed his mind. Perhaps he was simply waiting for the rain to seep through him and wash away his pain.

He would wait. He would wait until there was a change. He would stay there as long as he needed to, until the next step came, whatever that would be. It might be a long time in coming, but he was more patient than most people believed, and had no other purpose now.

Gakuto hugged his knees closer and, waiting, watched as the rain melted the world away.


	16. Warmth

**Title: **Warmth

**date written: **11-13-06

**Pairings: **Oshitari/Gakuto

**Note: **Sequel to Rain. This is for merissala, who asked for an ending to the angst.

* * *

It had been ten minutes and he was still there.

Oshitari stared out his window at the figure huddled against the wall. The rain on the windowpane almost blotted the small boy from his vision. Oshitari had never seen anything so wretched in his life. The little acrobat hadn't moved since he got there, had simply sat there next to the wall and stayed, staring into the distance for ten whole minutes. Oshitari would never admit that he had been watching for just as long, trying to decide what to do.

At this rate the idiot would catch pneumonia.

He made up his mind. Grabbing an umbrella he ventured downstairs, stopping off at the kitchen for a minute before heading outside.

Gakuto looked up in dim confusion when the rain stopped falling, staring at the umbrella and the person who was holding it. Only then did Oshitari notice what he couldn't see from his window—that the redhead was pale and shaking like a leaf.

"Come on," he said, hauling his doubles partner to his feet and pulling him inside the house. He gave him a dry pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, and once Gakuto had changed he set him down on the sofa and pushed a mug of hot chocolate into his hands. Gaktuo sat there miserably for a minute, the only sound the barely audible chattering of his teeth.

Oshitari frowned.

"Yuushi… I—" Gakuto started as the tensai sat down next to him, but his doubles partner shushed him. He took the mug from Gakuto's hands, setting it on the coffee table, and then pulled the redhead's cold body into a tight hug.

There was no apology. There didn't need to be one; words would only confuse the matter. It was words that had gotten them into this mess in the first place, and no matter how many times he could say he was sorry it would never speak as well as his actions did.

Gakuto relaxed as the warmth of his partner's embrace spread through him, and somehow he knew, without a doubt, that they would be okay.

Of course, there would be hell to pay when Yuushi's sister found them later that evening asleep in each other's arms… but that's another story entirely.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm sorry they've been so short lately. Hopefully this one doesn't suck quite as much as the last did... At any rate, to make up for it, tomorrow (provided that I can finish it in time) there will be Silver Pair _and_ it will be longer than usual. Also, it won't be angsty. (Huzzah!)


	17. Methods and Madness

**Title: **Methods and Madness

**date written: **11-14-06

**Pairing: **Silver Pair

* * *

It was the kind of morning when you wake early, brimming with energy and a sense of purpose. The kind of morning when, giving into impulse, you throw the window open and shout "Hello, world!" 

And the world responds, "Shut up, I'm trying to sleep!!"

Yeah. That kind of morning.

Of course, Ohtori didn't _actually_ great the dawn by shouting like a maniac. He had more self control than that. He also didn't want to wake his parents, who would want to kill him, or his sister, who would want to know why it was, exactly, that he was so excited. Ohtori didn't want to deal with that today; he had too much to think about already.

This was because he had decided that today would be the day.

Or, rather, The Day. Today would be The Day that he finally asked Shishido-san out on an official date. It merited the capital letters because the two of them had been avoiding the subject for so long. Through their private training and struggles the two of them had become close, and Ohtori had learned who Shishido-san really was. Far from the brash, arrogant jerk some people took him to be, Ohtori knew that Shishido-san was a good person who was genuine in his actions, dedicated in his undertakings, and straightforward in his manner. He had his failings, but somehow even they could be endearing. After spending so much time with him, Ohtori found that he couldn't help caring for him.

Shishido-san felt the same way about Ohtori. At least, Ohtori thought he did. Shishido-san may have been genuine and straightforward, but that didn't mean he bared his soul at every turn. Still, everyone had noticed that Ohtori was treated with more affection from the dash specialist than anyone else on the team received, or Hyoutei at large. Neither of them had ever said anything but everyone knew _something_ was going on.

That was why today was The Day. Ohtori was tired of playing around, tired of hoping that Shishido-san would do something about their not-exactly-a-relationship and had decided to take the initiative.

"Shishido-san!"

Shishido turned and, seeing his kouhai, the intense expression he always wore slipped a little into a smile. He slowed in his pace to allow Ohtori to catch up with him so they could walk the rest of the way to the clubroom together.

"Hey Choutarou, what's up?"

"Actually, Shishido-san, I wanted to ask you—"

"HEADS UP!"

Instinctively, both of them dove for cover. Scant seconds after they had hit the deck, two tennis bags crashed down onto the path directly in front of them. They regarded the objects for a moment before Shishido got up, scowling.

"…appreciate the effort, but I do not believe that is what 'I'll carry your bag' generally means," they heard a drawling voice say, approaching from around the corner.

"I didn't say I'd _carry_ it, I said I'd help," responded another voice. "And look, they're right next to the door now and we don't have to carry them at all."

"Gakuto, throwing our bags off the bleachers is not—"

"OI!"

Ohtori watched as Shishido stalked up to the arguing doubles pair.

"Did you do that?" he demanded, gesturing angrily to the fallen bags. "You could have taken Choutarou's head off!"

The tensai and the acrobat both looked at the scene.

"Did it hit you?" asked Gakuto. "Shit. If my stuff's broken it'll be your ass, Shishido."

"Not. The. Point." Shishido growled. "What the hell do you think you're doing, chucking stuff at people, anyway?!"

Gakuto actually looked offended.

"I didn't throw it _at_ you," he retorted, "I didn't know you were there! And I warned you, didn't I? It's not my fault if you're too distracted to notice!"

"What the hell does that mean?!"

"It means that if you paid any attention to what you were doing instead of spending all your time thinking about O—mmph!"

Gakuto glared at Oshitari, who had put one hand over the redhead's mouth and the other on his shoulder and began steering him towards the clubroom.

"Our fault entirely," he said smoothly, relinquishing his hold on his doubles partner only when he stopped to pick up both tennis bags. "Apologies, Ohtori," he said while Gakuto sulked.

Ohtori nodded and smiled as he watched the two go inside.

"Are you okay, Choutarou?" Shishido didn't look quite as angry anymore.

"I'm fine, Shishido-san," Ohtori said, getting up and dusting off his clothes.

"I swear, those guys are going to kill someone one of these days," Shishido grumbled, as they continued on their way into the building and to the clubroom, where most of the other regulars were already assembled. "Oh, hey, were you going to say something?"

"Actually, I was going to ask you if—"

"Shishido!"

This time the interruption came from a miffed looking Atobe. The Hyoutei diva strolled up to them with his usual air of extreme self-importance and completely ignored the frown that was now gracing Ohtori's lips.

"Shishido, Ore-sama is not going to tell you again to keep your trinkets to yourself," he said haughtily. "Ore-sama found _this_ next to his things."

They took the time to look at the object that Atobe was brandishing. It looked like a hairbrush, and on closer examination it had a sparkly, pink handle.

"…The hell?" said Shishido. "Atobe, you think that hideous thing is _mine?_

"Naturally," replied Atobe, raising a pristine eyebrow. "Who else would have the bad taste to own such a thing and be careless enough to leave it next to Ore-sama's bag?"

Shishido looked as though he was about to tell Atobe where he could shove it when they were interrupted as a scowling Hiyoshi stalked up, snatched the hairbrush from Atobe, and retreated back to his corner of the room, muttering. For a moment they only stared, then Atobe, now ignoring the falsely accused Shishido entirely, followed the second year with the clear intention of giving him a piece of his mind.

"Sorry, Choutarou," Shishido began, turning back to his doubles partner. "What were you going to—HEY! Give that back, Gakuto!"

Ohtori watched as Shishido proceeded to chase down Gakuto and demand the return of whatever it was the acrobat had just stolen from the other boy's bag. The locker room, he reflected, was not a good place for asking senpai out on dates. Not only were there the constant interruptions, but there was also the possibility of being overheard by other senpai. It was probably better to wait for a more opportune moment.

The only problem was that there _were_ no opportune moments. All throughout practice there was always someone nearby or a match or argument was in progress, and Ohtori found that he could never get a word in edgewise. It wasn't until after morning practice was over that Ohtori even had a chance, deciding to ambush Shishido as he came out of the showers.

Unfortunately, that didn't work out quite so well either.

"Shishido-san, about what I was going to ask you this… morning…"

"What is it, Choutarou?" Shishido asked, toweling off his hair.

Ohtori tried to say it. It was the perfect time—Shishido took long showers and everyone else had already left so there would be no eavesdropping senpai. Sadly, the moment he'd seen Shishido step into the locker room with only a towel around his waist… his brain had short-circuited. He didn't look at his senpai when they were changing; he thought it was indecent and a little like voyeurism. He usually made an extra effort not to peek while Shishido changed, because he was certain his blush would give him away. He couldn't ask Shishido out when he was half-naked; it was too awkward.

"…Choutarou?"

"Just say yes," said a voice from behind them.

The two boys blinked and turned. Ohtori had thought the room was empty, but he had somehow managed to overlook the drowsy form of Jiroh on the clubroom sofa. The sleepy boy yawned and sat up, stretching.

"What?" asked Shishido, bewildered.

"To his question," said Jiroh. "Just say yes. You're going to at some point, anyway."

The boys stared at him. Jiroh-senpai, Ohtori reflected, was a lot sharper than he looked. He hoped that the volley specialist was also accurate in his predictions.

"Jiroh, what are you talking about?" demanded Shishido, still confused.

Jiroh shook his head.

"Never mind," he said. He yawned again. "Hey, Shishido, didn't Machida-sensei say he was going to… uh… oh, right, 'give you detention for the rest of your short, miserable life,' if you were late to literature class again?"

Shishido blanched.

"Crap! I totally forgot!" Shishido dressed in record speed and flew out the door with a hurried call of "Sorry, Choutarou, gotta go!"

Jiroh followed him at a much slower, languid pace.

"Try again after afternoon practice, Ohtori-kun," the sleepy boy said, reaching up to pat him on the shoulder before wandering out the door. "He'll have nowhere to run then."

Ohtori stood there wondering what on earth had just happened. Then he realized that he was late to his own class.

It was not turning out to be a good day.

Ohtori liked to think of himself as being patient and understanding, but as the day continued on he found himself becoming frustrated. He didn't even see his senpai again until classes were over; true to Jiroh's warnings, Machida-sensei had apparently been none to forgiving and had given Shishido lunch detention. By the time afternoon practice was half over he was beginning to think that the entire world was conspiring against him. Every time he tried to broach the subject he was interrupted. Maybe today just wasn't the day after all, he found himself thinking sadly.

"Choutarou, are you okay?" Shishido was looking at him in concern. "You've been kind of distracted today."

Startled, Ohtori realized he had been staring at the same spot on the ground for the last five minutes. Practice had ended and they were once again in the clubroom getting ready to go home. The entire day had passed and Ohtori still hadn't said his peace. He was so frustrated by this point that he was almost ready to give up. This was his last chance.

"I'm fine, Shishido-san," he said, and then, "Can I ask you something?"

Shishido shrugged.

"Sure, Choutarou, what is it?"

The senpai could hear if they wanted to, Ohtori decided, he didn't care. As long as Shishido finally heard what he had to say, nothing else mattered. He took a deep breath.

"Shishido-san," he began, "would you—"

"Hey, Shishido, how's your extra homework going? I heard Machida-sensei was pretty pissed!"

"Shut up, Gakuto! I'm trying to have a conversation here!"

"Shishido-san, could we—"

"Well, ex_cuse me!_ Next time you land in detention for a week I just won't say anything at all!"

"GOOD!"

"Shishido-san, I—"

"Of course, next time I'll be too busy laughing my ass off…"

"I thought I told you to shut—"

"Shishido-san!!"

Everything stopped.

Ohtori hadn't meant to yell. He hadn't realized he did until he saw everyone staring. He didn't blame them for being surprised—Ohtori wasn't the kind of person who yelled at people, not nice, quiet Choutarou. He was the kid who was always polite and soft-spoken, the one who would sit by in silence even when he was frustrated just because it made more sense to him than losing his temper.

Of course, there were always special circumstances.

Nobody said a word. Shishido looked utterly shocked, and only stared at him with his mouth open. As the seconds ticked by, Ohtori felt his face going red. Now that he had the attention of the entire clubroom there was no way he could say anything. So he did the only thing he could think of and, ducking his head, he mumbled an apology and left.

He was halfway down the block and mentally kicking himself when he heard his name called.

It didn't take very long for Shishido to catch up with him.

"Choutarou, I'm sorry," the other boy said, a little out of breath. "I didn't mean to interrupt you. What were you going to say?"

Ohtori sighed.

"It doesn't matter, senpai," he said, resigned. If fate had decreed that today wasn't the day, then there wasn't much he could do about it.

"Oh."

They stood there in awkwardly for a minute, neither sure of what they should say. It was Shishido who finally spoke up and broke the silence.

"Hey, Choutarou…" he was avoiding Ohtori's gaze and rubbing the back of his neck with one hand while the other played with the hem of his shirt, Ohtori noticed. It was a sign that usually meant he was embarrassed about something. "Do you want to… go get something to eat? Or see a movie or something?"

Ohtori blinked and ran the sentences through his head again to make sure he'd heard correctly. It couldn't possibly be what it sounded like, could it? Not after the day he'd had…

"Now, senpai?" he asked, stalling for time.

"Yeah, sure, now," Shishido responded quickly. "Or later. Or… not. If you don't want to…"

"I would love to, Shishido-san," said Ohtori warmly.

Shishido relaxed. He'd been worried that Choutarou was mad at him. He didn't really blame him if he was, what with all the times he'd been interrupted that day. Shishido still had no idea what Choutarou had wanted to tell him. He wanted to make it up to his doubles partner, if only because he couldn't stand the idea of ending the day badly with the silver-haired second year.

Ohtori's next question, however, threw him for a loop.

"Is this a date, senpai?"

Shishido froze, unsure. Had Choutarou thought…? Had Shishido sounded like…? Had he wanted…?

…

…was it?

For a moment, Shishido only stood there. Then something Jiroh had said to him earlier that day came back to him. There was no way Jiroh could have known, Shishido realized, but it was still the best advice he could have given.

"Yes," he said nervously.

Then he finally met his partner's gaze and, seeing the way Ohtori was smiling, he didn't feel so nervous anymore.

For their very first official date, Shishido and Ohtori, neither whom had very much money on them at the time, went out to dinner at a fast food restaurant. The food was greasy, and the building was far too crowded and noisy for confessions of love, or whispering sweet nothings, or any conversation at all. Somehow, however, they both felt that it couldn't have gone better. The place didn't really matter, they could have been anywhere at all and it would have been perfect because they were together, and it was official.

In the end, thought Ohtori later that night as he said goodbye to his boyfriend and began the long walk home, it always turned out that the best things in life were unplanned.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm really sorry about how late (and rushed) this is. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to go on a semi-hiatus. My workload is enough now that in order to get things done I stay up to all hours of the morning and I've started acting like Jiroh, falling asleep in odd places. Also, in a couple of days I'm going home for the week of Thanksgiving, and my parents' computer is broken, so there's not much I can do about it until I return. At any rate, I'll be back around the Monday after Thanksgiving, and the updates will continue then. :) 


	18. The Art Room Incident

I'm back! ...err... rather later than I had intended to be. Sorry!! At some point "after Thanksgiving" turned into "before Christmas" and then everything went downhill from there. It doesn't help that I've been suffering under a severe case of writer's block (which basically means that everything I've tried to write in the last two weeks was utter crap. gah.) ...Anyway, on with the story!

**Title: **The Art Room Incident

**date: **12-05-06

**Warning: **kind of on crack. mostly just silly.

* * *

They should have known they were in trouble when Jiroh showed up at practice late and covered in glitter. 

"Jiroh… did something happen?"

It was a universal question, but Shishido was the only one dumb enough to actually ask it. Everyone else had been ignoring the volley specialist and his strange shimmer in the desperate hope that whatever had occurred it wouldn't affect them.

"Oh, no." All smiles, Jiroh shook his head, sending a cascade of rainbow sparkles into the air. "I was just helping Hiyoshi out with his art project."

As Jiroh paused, looking thoughtful, the regulars realized for the first time that Hiyoshi was not at practice. It was strange that none of them had noticed before since Hiyoshi, a firm believer in his much-lauded philosophy of 'gekokujou' and the possibility of achieving it through hard work, had never missed practice before for anything other than near-fatal illness. Yet here they were at practice and Hiyoshi, who had been there that morning, was mysteriously absent. Add to this the previous comments and a happy, awake Jiroh who was covered in glitter and… well, things did not bode well.

"Who in their right mind would let Jiroh into the art room?" Gakuto wondered, taking a step back. Oshitari shushed him.

"Just don't ask, Gakuto," he said. "With any luck we will never find out. …Perhaps the problem will go away on its own?"

The rest of the regulars agreed with this and so the entire team endeavored to ignore Jiroh, as per usual, as the boy stretched out on a bench to sleep and they went back to practice, sans Hiyoshi. And the problem did go away. It went away, that is, until near the end of practice when Sakaki showed up, looking exceptionally irritated. The regulars all stopped what they were doing as he called Atobe over and began what looked like a lecture that soon turned into a heated argument. As their voices gradually rose the others began to hear words like "teammates," and "actions" and "responsibility," and then the word that no one had wanted to hear: "repercussions."

The team collectively winced and Atobe walked away from their coach, both scowling for all they were worth. By the time the charismatic captain had reached his underlings he had managed to school his face into a more placid expression that somewhat resembled his usual haughty visage. If it weren't for the way that his eyebrow was twitching, no one would have known the difference.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he demanded when they all just stared at him. "We're going."

They continued to stare.

"Err… going where?" someone asked.

Atobe gave them another haughty look, one that said 'this was my idea, really. I was in no way just given an ultimatum by kantoku and I am, most emphatically, doing this out of _the goodness of my heart._ And, coincidentally, so are you.'

"There appears to have been a localized natural disaster in the vicinity of the art room," he said. The gaze of every single member of the team drifted to where Jiroh was asleep on a bench in a puddle of glitter. "Seeing that one or more of our number may have been… involved,"—here everyone heard the clear implied meaning of 'the cause'—"Ore-sama has decided that it is his civic duty to perform damage control in the aftermath."

He stood there looking at them pointedly while they translated from Atobe-speak in their heads.

"Okaaay," said Gakuto finally, knowing he was going to regret his next question. "But what does that have to do with us?"

Atobe looked at him smugly.

"_You_, Mukahi, as Ore-sama's loyal teammates and followers, are compelled by duty and team solidarity to help."

Which meant, of course, that they would be doing all the work while Atobe stood back and barked orders at them. The team exchanged glances. Shishido was the first to open his mouth, obviously intent on loudly refusing the order.

"What?! No way in he—"

"Of course," Atobe said, smoothly interrupting him, "if your sense of team spirit is sadly lacking then it would be perfectly acceptable for you to stay here. Ore-sama is sure that there is _plenty_ for you to do in the meantime. Why, only yesterday kantoku remarked to me that some of the more uncouth students have taken to sticking bubblegum to the bleachers." He narrowed his eyes at Shishido. "Ore-sama is _sure_ that those of you who wish to stay behind would have no qualms about beautifying the courts."

There was a short pause while they considered the obvious threat in these words.

"Kabaji," said Atobe, snapping his fingers. "Bring Jiroh, but don't bother to wake him. We wouldn't want the incident to repeat itself, Aahn?"

"Uss."

The others watched as the gigantic second year hefted Jiroh over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and then trundled after their captain, who was already striding back towards the main building. They stood there for a moment and considered their options.

"Aw, man," complained Shishido. "Why do we have to suffer just because Jiroh needs psychiatric help? Can't we just go back to practice?"

"_You_ can," replied Gakuto, walking after Atobe towards the art room. "Have fun cleaning gum off the bleachers."

Shishido scowled and followed him, the rest of the team not far behind.

And so it was that the Hyoutei tennis team found themselves one afternoon standing in the art room looking in horror at the destruction around them. Even Atobe had looked a little startled when they found him staring at the wreckage. The place looked as though it had been attacked by a rabid fairy that was bent on either the destruction of all mankind or the proliferation of pixie-dust. Crayons and paints were scattered around the room, some leaving trails of bright color across the tiled floor, the previously white walls and, in few choice place, the ceiling. Papers were tossed about, some drawn on, some lying haphazardly in puddles of paint. A few of the arts and crafts accessories had been dragged out of their boxes—glue, construction paper, Popsicle sticks, felt, even a few balloons had somehow made it into the mix. But by far the most obvious addition to the room was the thick layer of glitter that covered _everything_. Every surface shimmered.

Truly it was an overwhelming sight. It was probably to their credit that they stood there staring in shock for only five minutes before they actually got to work.

It was nearly sunset by the time they decided to call it a day. The room was nowhere near presentable, but they had managed to clean away most of the paint, and had stacked the papers and put away the art supplies. Someone had even managed to unearth Hiyoshi, who was then led away gently by Ohtori while the silver-haired boy assured him that everything would be okay.

"T-the rainbows…" Hiyoshi had whimpered in response. "Make them go away, Ohtori… sparkles… rainbows… make them… make them go away…"

After he had come back from the nurse's office, Ohtori reported that Hiyoshi was now resting comfortably, although it was possible he would need extensive therapy. By that time the second year had returned Jiroh had woken up, been lectured, grabbed a handful of crayons and run down the hall giggling, and then been dragged bodily back into the room by Shishido. The volley specialist was then coerced into helping them clean, although it only lasted for a few minutes before he got bored and went to sleep again.

At the end of the day they looked around and, despite ample evidence to the contrary, declared themselves finished. Regardless of all the time and effort they had spent on it, chances were that Hyoutei's art room would never be the same. There would always be strange stains on the ceiling that not even Ohtori and Kabaji were tall enough to scrub off. There would always be those three Popsicle sticks that were glued to the wall that no one had been able to pry away. And, as students would notice with curiosity for years to come, the whole room would always sparkle strangely whenever the light was just right. Try as they might, they never really managed to get the glitter out of the woodwork.

Try as he might, Hiyoshi never really managed to get it out of his clothes either. And if his hair shimmered for the next month or so, no one mentioned it.

* * *

**A/N: **You know, I love Hiyoshi, but I think I abuse him... Possibly I can just say that this is a slightly-late birthday gift for the poor shroom, except that he's not in it very much. Anyway, I apologize again for the horrible lateness of my update, and for the possible lateness of my future updates. Unbelievably just about everything in my LIFE seems broken right now--starting with my ability to write and continuing on through more mundane things like my fritzy internet and broken heating (not fun when there's snow on the ground. brr.) I know this sounds like a lot of lame excuses, but life is life and sometimes there's not much you can do about it getting in the way of the more important things, like sanity and fanfiction. :P In any case, I'm still going to try and update as often as I can... but we'll see how well that goes. 


	19. Reflections

**Title: **Reflections

**date written: **11-14-06 (well. date _started_. edited heavily and finished... today. :P)

* * *

"Mirrors," said Oshitari suddenly one day at lunch. The people present paused to reorganize their thoughts around this declaration. 

"Mirrors?" someone said eventually, questioning the random outburst.

"Yes. Mirrors," he repeated. "Has anyone paused to wonder recently what it is about mirrors that captures the imagination?"

There was a general confused silence until Shishido spoke up.

"They were discussing it in our literature class," he said, rolling his eyes. "Like two days ago. Give it up, Oshitari, no one cares."

"I am considering writing my next essay on the subject," Oshitari insisted.

"Why mirrors?" asked Gakuto, stabbing at his cafeteria lunch and making a face. "Wouldn't it be easier to write your essay on symbols of reality, or that stupid lovey-dovey passage you liked so much?"

"Mirrors are far more interesting," replied the tensai, removing the now pulverized mush that was his doubles partner's lunch and replacing it with a snack he had picked up from a vending machine on the way to school. He had started bringing Gakuto snacks in the event that the acrobat forgot his lunch and decided that eating cafeteria food was for losers. The two of them were in the cafeteria with a few of the other regulars. There had been a lull in the conversation, and Oshitari had taken it as an invitation to bring up a new topic. No one was paying very much attention, though; Shishido had gone back to picking at his own lunch disinterestedly, Atobe was filling out student council-related paperwork, and Kabaji was… well, Kabaji. He might have been paying attention, but really, who could tell?

"For one thing," Oshitari continued, "mirrors _are_ a symbol of reality. Unfortunately, no one seems to be sure what they symbolize."

"What does that mean?"

"No one seems sure whether mirrors show the truth or lies," explained Oshitari.

"How is a mirror supposed to lie?" Shishido asked skeptically, in the interests of killing time.

"There is the idea of the 'mirror-world,' a place where everything is opposite to reality, which has made its way into western culture. It has appeared in books, television, movies. On the other hand, some people seem to believe that the mirror holds the true reflection of reality, showing only what's really there."

"And why does it matter?" Gakuto wondered around the cupcake that was stuffed in his mouth.

"It doesn't," said Oshitari. "That's why I'm writing the essay about mirrors: because in the end, everything is up to the interpretation of the viewer."

"…what?"

"It doesn't matter if the mirror shows the truth or lies," he repeated, "because the viewer will ultimately see what they want to."

"That's stupid," interrupted Shishido. "If that were true, why have them at all?"

Oshitari shrugged.

"Nevertheless, it is the case. For instance… Atobe," Oshitari called out to the Hyoutei captain, "what do you see when you look in the mirror?"

"Perfection," replied Atobe, without looking up.

Oshitari smirked.

"My point exactly," he said.


	20. Oblivious

...Err. Hello, again. I feel kind of bad for disappearing completely for several months. I'm not back for long, either. Frankly, I haven't had much will or inspiration to write since new years, and when there's no inspiration everything I write is just really, really bad. If I get any more ideas for this set of stories then I'll post them. Likewise, if anybody has a prompt or a suggestion they'd like me to write for them, I can try... but I won't guarantee anything. I apologize for my rather sad lack of effort... Anyway, I wanted to post something for today, for one of my favorite characters. It was kind of slapped together and it doesn't really make much sense (not to me, anyway, and I wrote it. yikes. why am I posting this again?), so bear with me... Anywhoo. On with the story...

**Title: **Oblivious

**Date Written: **05-05-07

**Warnings:**Jiroh. ...yeah. That's all the warning you need, really. :P

**Disclaimer: **I've waited for months and months, but I still don't own Prince of Tennis. Drat.

* * *

Jiroh's head was resting on something hard. 

It was kind of odd, because he was sure that when he'd curled up on the courtside bench he'd been using his jacket as a pillow. His things didn't normally disappear out from under him even when he was sleeping—almost everyone in the tennis club liked him enough to curtail the usual Hyoutei ambition and cruelty for his case, and those who didn't had learned quickly that Atobe, as the captain, took care of his regulars, _especially_ the one regular who never fought back. Even the most competitive members of the pre-regular team didn't like laps all _that _much. So it wasn't very likely that someone had taken his jacket. Of course, it also wasn't all that unusual for him to wake up in a place completely different from where he'd fallen asleep, either.

The cold thing digging into his cheek, however, that is the—he cracked an eye open for the purpose of further investigation—spoon, was another matter entirely.

…why was he lying on a spoon?

"Ah! He's awake."

Jiroh blinked and raised his head groggily to look at the speaker. The spoon, still desperately clinging to its newfound friend, valiantly stuck to his cheek for a few seconds before losing its grip and falling with a _clack_ to the table. Jiroh spared it a glance, noting its sudden loneliness and abject misery, before looking back over the table—which was, yes, hard, cold and… oh, _yuck_, just a bit sticky—to meet the gaze of his waiting teammates.

They were all staring at him. Hopefully it wasn't because he had table-gunk in his hair.

Actually, it probably wasn't because of the gunk. They were staring at him kind of… expectantly.

Jiroh blinked and, armed with a brilliant comment for every situation, opened his mouth.

"Huh?"

There were a couple of exasperated sighs, something that sounded like an amused chuckle coming from Oshitari, and a soft comment of "well, at least senpai is awake now," from somewhere off to his left.

"Jiroh, you dope, we've been trying to wake you up for like ten minutes," said Gakuto, rolling his eyes.

"Huh?" Jiroh said again. "Is practice over? Did I miss anything?"

He yawned and then, glancing down at the table again and noting the forlorn spoon and the rather girly pink napkin it was sitting on, wrinkled his brow.

"Um, where are we?"

Shishido answered him this time, smirking slightly.

"The ice-cream parlor down the road from school. You know, the one with that Triple-Decker brownie chocolate…" Shishido faltered with the long name, "…thing that you said you wanted to try."

Suddenly, Jiroh was wide awake.

"The Triple-Decker Chocolate Brownie Fudge-Cake Bonanza Explosion?!" he shouted, jumping up and smacking his hands down on the table, accidentally hitting the spoon and sending it flying through the air before it fell, abandoned, to the floor. He leaned forward with wide eyes.

"But didn't Atobe say we couldn't come here 'cause it would make us all fat and we wouldn't be able to play tennis anymore?!" He blinked again. "Eh? Hey, where is Atobe, anyway?"

"His highness deigned to give us his permission, just for today," replied Gakuto sourly, "but he wouldn't come. Apparently ice-cream is for low-lives."

"I believe the exact word he used, Gakuto, was 'plebian,'" said Oshitari, still looking amused as he picked up the spoon and put it back on the table. "Followed by the assertion that… ah, 'if the entire team wishes to gorge on badly made confectionaries than far be it from ore-sama to stop you, but if you intend to supply Jiroh with copious amounts of sugar, than ore-sama would rather prefer moving to China than being in the restaurant at the time.'"

"It was nice of buchou to give us permission," Ohtori said, smiling, while Gakuto snickered at Oshitari's impersonation of their arrogant captain.

"Yeah, well, it would be nicer if he wasn't such a bastard about it."

"Shishido-san!!"

"What? It's true! He doesn't really have a right to tell us not to come here in the first place! Besides, he could at least come himself. And he didn't have to drag Kabaji and Hiyoshi away, too. I mean, what's the point of a party if no one's going to show up?"

"Party?" Jiroh tilted his head in confusion. "Party for what?"

The blank stares he was receiving told him that he had missed something.

"Aw, man, come _on_," said Shishido, in disbelief. "Tell me you're not serious!"

"Senpai…" Ohtori's said, gently, "You don't know?"

Jiroh shook his head.

_Thunk_. Oshitari just barely managed to move the same well-traveled spoon out of the way before Gakuto's head impacted with the table and sent the abused object catapulting into the air once again.

"Jiiiroooo_oh_," the redhead whined, slightly muffled. "Can't you stay awake long enough to remember what _day_ it is?"

"Day?"

"Well, we should start there, at any rate," said Oshitari. He was smiling again, patiently. Jiroh liked Oshitari's patient smile; it meant he wasn't in a particularly sadistic mood, and when Oshitari was not in a sadistic mood he was usually very funny and nice. Of course, he could be funny when he was feeling sadistic, too, it was just always at someone else's expense. "Jiroh, can you tell me the date?"

"Um. April… twenty… third?"

"You dork, you're not even in the right month!" said Gakuto, exasperated.

"Eh?"

"It's May _Fifth_, Jiroh."

"…EH?!"

Ohtori smiled at him.

"Happy Birthday, Jiroh-senpai."

-------------

By the time Jiroh had finished his second Triple-Decker Chocolate Brownie Fudge-Cake Bonanza Explosion he was almost literally bouncing off the walls and the rest of the team had rediscovered why it was that Atobe normally forbade them to give the volley specialist anything containing sugar. He would have felt bad about the mess he was making, but frankly the look on Shishido's face when Ohtori had informed him that he had chocolate on his cheek was just too priceless. It was even funnier when the silver-haired second-year had tried to wipe off said chocolate with his bright pink napkin, causing Shishido's face to turn almost the exact same shade.

Likewise, Gakuto's complaints that he would never get the chocolate goop out of his hair, Oshitari's subsequent promise to help him wash it, and Shishido's general reaction to the comment, were enough to make up for the gigantic tip they had to leave the waitress to compensate for their… festivities.

When they finally left the ice-cream parlor, covered in chocolate syrup, worn out from damage-control and just generally tired—well, except for a certain hyper blonde, who hadn't been more awake all day—Jiroh held back for a moment. Swiftly, before anyone could notice, he went back to their table, rescuing one particularly battered spoon, and putting it safely in his pocket. After all, he thought before running to catch up with his teammates, it would be lonely without him.

To make the day even better, after he went home Jiroh got a call from Atobe. He spent an entire half hour on the phone with his captain, even managing to get the promise of a tennis game out of him before they hung up.

Birthdays were awesome, Jiroh reflected, setting his new spoon in front of his desk calendar, the day circled in bright red and proceeded by a line of thick Xs. He grinned and picked up his red pen, marking through the day just like he did every night.

Yeah, birthdays were awesome.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I think one of the reasons this story turned out to be so strange is because my characterization of Jiroh has been kind of... morphing, and I'm trying to figure it out. The Jiroh in "Freedom", "Grandeur", and "The Art Room Incident", for instance, doesn't really act much like the Jiroh in "Speculation", "Spectacles", and to some extent "Resemblance". I've been trying to figure out why I've made him seem so different in different stories, and barring the general flaws of my characterization, I think I've come to a conclusion. Which is that they _are_ the same person, but that Jiroh is a whole lot smarter than people give him credit for and that he _likes_ being smarter than people give him credit for. In other words, he likes people to think that he's utterly oblivious but that doesn't mean it's true. Of course, it didn't really come out that well in this particular story. I'm still not entirely sure if I shouldn't just scrap the last three paragraphs... 

Woah. Sorry for the ramble. The point is, Happy Birthday to Jiroh! And as always, thanks for reading!!


End file.
